Til You Can Stand
by JadeBear77
Summary: The newest Director of NCIS needs a little back up...even if it's someone that used to glue his face to his desk.
1. Chapter 1

Til You Can Stand

By JadeBear

Disclaimer: NCIS and its characters do not belong to me. Grrr.

This story is complete and I'll be adding the rest of the chapters tonight. (would have had them up sooner but my computer is evil I'm weak)

Warnings: death fic. I know, I actually did it. *shiver*

**(**

It's the fourteenth spitball in three hours. He knows. He's been counting.

"Tony…" He sighs the sigh of the long suffering.

"Come ON, McBoring! Aren't you done yet? I'm McBored over here," DiNozzo whines and adds a sigh of the exasperated variety.

McGee glances irritably over to the leather couch in time to watch Tony flop dramatically back, arms flinging gracelessly away from his body.

"You don't have to stay," Tim grumbles, his hands flying once again over the keyboard as he types up his daily report. And he used to think field reports took forever. At least then it was one case or two, not the entire department.

"Of course I have to stay. Where else would I go?"

"Anywhere but here,"

"Hey!"

"Tony! Come on! I've got a dozen reports to finish up, plus the evaluations and then-"

A knock at the door interrupts him and he quickly snaps his mouth shut as the door is pushed open with a distinct air of hesitancy. Janice, his secretary steps in, looking across the room and then to McGee.

Tim's ears blush scarlet at obviously being caught arguing, loudly…again…and Tony simply reclines back on the couch, arms folded behind his head and a wide smug grin stretched across his face. Tim shoots him a glare promising all kinds of hurt. Tony only smiles wider and mouths, "Busted,"

"These transfer requests just arrived for you, Sir. And Special Agent Arnold asked that you arrange a meeting with your contacts in South America regarding the Tomlin case,"

Tim turns his full attention on the tall brunette, refusing to acknowledge the way Tony is eyeing her up and down.

"Asked?" Tim arches a brow. Janice smirks, a rueful expression overcoming her features. Arnold is a relatively new Agent to the Navy Yard. The man has ten years experience with NCIS and twenty years black ops before that. He treats the Navy Yard like his own personal command center and its staff like candy; chewing them up and grinding them out. Him included. The game is getting old.

"Yes, Sir. Asked. In his own special way,"

"Of course. Thank you, Janice,"

She nods and walks smartly to the door, looking back towards the couch one last time before leaving and closing the door with a soft click. Tony wiggles his fingers at her and settles himself back into the cushions.

"Gonna have to do something about that guy, Probie,"

Tim slumps in his seat. Tony is not going to let this go. Avoiding the question he snarks back, "I _am_ the Director of NCIS, you know. I'm not a probie anymore. I haven't been for years,"

He turns his focus back to his computer screen even as he hears Tony ease himself off the couch. A shadow looms over his desk and he hunches his shoulders a little more. The shadow moves until he can see hands bracing themselves on the smooth desktop. He ignores them and the body they belong to. But then, when is Tony ever one to be ignored?

"Could have fooled me," Tim hates the way the other man can pitch his voice low and soft, demanding attention in a way that yelling and spitballs can never do. He doesn't even know when he stopped typing. "you tip-toe around that jerk like it was your first day on the job,"

"I do not," and if that came out sounding just this side of petulant, well then, who else was there to hear it?

He could hear the intake of breath that isn't quite a laugh, and isn't quite a snort, but more like the sound of amused pity. He really hates that sound.

"At least when you were a real probie, it was expected. Now it's just sad. You're so worried about making a good impression as Director and making everyone like you that you're forgetting what's really important here,"

Tim looks up, finally making eye contact with his friend. Tony's eyes are as intense as ever. Tim looks down. He's always envied that. The way DiNozzo can project so much with just a look. Rage, laughter, pity, disbelief, pain...

"Tim?"

One more long suffering sigh, "What, Tony? What am I forgetting?" There is such a long pause that Tim isn't sure if DiNozzo is still there. He looks up and is trapped by that hard stare.

"Respect, McGee,"

"Respect?"

"Yeah, you know, R-E-S-P-E-C-T, find out what it means to me…you know, that thing that makes people take your orders and like it? That thing that makes them NOT throw you down and use you as a doormat? That thing that makes you not look like you have a pencil di-"

"Yeah, okay, I get it,"

Tony leans away from the desk and folds his arms over his chest. A smirk stretches his mouth, but no amusement is held there.

"No, kid, you don't. And that's why I'm still here,"

**(**

McGee finishes up late and is headed home, his favorite jazz album silenced and his fingers still on the steering wheel instead of tapping out a rhythm in tandem with whatever would have been playing. It's well past ten p.m. and instead of that knowledge lending speed to his driving, he turns off a side street and decides to take the long way home. Bethany would be in bed, glasses perched on her pert nose and a romance novel on her lap. Thinking of her doesn't even bring the usual smile to his face that her name always evokes. He sighs and leans back into the soft leather, thinking how Tony has finally approved of his choice in vehicles.

Tony.

Tim slumps down further, his left arm resting by the window while his fingertips rub his brow. He doesn't know what irks him more; That after four months as the new Director, he really is cow-toeing to everyone or that Tony is right. Here in the darkness, with only the rhythmic sloshing of rain under tires to accompany him, he can admit that while trying his damndest to succeed, he's failing. Flailing. When they had offered him the promotion, he'd nearly hyperventilated. He'd had his own team for two years at that point and though he'd entertained the notion in wild moments of fancy, he'd never thought it could be a reality. He'd almost turned it down. Bethany had been wonderful and supportive and told him that she'd stand by him no matter what he wanted to do. And he could see in her eyes that she meant it. Just as he could see in her eyes the almost desperate hope that he would accept it, if only to bring him in off the streets and out of danger. But she would not give voice to her own fears. She'd known he was a cop when she'd agreed to spend the rest of her life with him. She would never take that away from him. Still, he'd felt intensely selfish because he knew he couldn't give it up just for her. He would die for her. But he couldn't take himself away from his team for her. There had to be more. There had to be another reason. And that was when Tony had met him in the elevator and casually mentioned that he'd heard about the job offer.

"_So, you gonna take it?"_

_Tim knew better than to ignore him, "I don't know yet,"_

_Tony had nodded sagely and continued leaning bonelessly against the back wall. Tim pursed his lips. He smoothed his hands on his trousers. He looked up at the numbers. Aw hell. With a jerky motion he lunged forward and hit the emergency stop button. He whirled on Tony who was looking calmly back, eyebrows raised in question._

"_What would you do?"_

"_Me?" _

"_Yeah,"_

"_Weeeell," DiNozzo drawled as he shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his dark grey Armani trousers. "first off, I'd hire a grad student named Tiffany to be my receptionist-"_

"_Tiffany?"_

_Tony looked at him. "Have you ever met an ugly Tiffany?"_

_Tim actually took a minute to think about it. "Um, no, I don't think I have,"_

"_See! So, when that's settled I'd make Friday Hawaiian shirt day- but not for you. You just can't pull it off, McTastless. And then all the baggy bunnies would have to wear these cute little-"_

"_Tony! Come on, I'm serious here!"_

_Tony looked affronted and spread his hands. "Hey, so am I!"_

"_Forget it," Tim turned around and moved towards the stop button. "I should have known you can't take anything serious. Forget I even asked,"_

_He didn't know how Tony moved so fast, but then, he never did, but there was Tony, standing between him and the emergency stop._

"_Look man, I'm sorry. This is really messing you up, isn't it?"_

_Tim could only shrug miserably._

"_Jenny was a good person, but she let her personal ambitions and vengeance get in the way,"_

_Tim looked up, puzzled. He thought about Director Shepard now and again but with the mention of her name, he recalled it all. Those last few months. Recalled the toll it had taken on his friend. Recalled in vivid detail how Tony had stood at his desk, daring him, wanting him to take a swing at him because he felt he deserved it. Deserved the blame for Shepard's death. He had never hated Jenny for doing what she'd been driven to do, but he had come close. She'd abused her position…abused the trust of her agents and used it against them. _

_It was…unforgivable._

"_Then there was Vance,"_

_And that was said with a bitterness that always underlined that name when spoken from Tony's mouth. The man was a little like Gibbs, he'd always thought. Doing things his way and only letting you in on the know if felt he needed to. And yet, with Gibbs, he never kept you out of the loop if he thought it would put a member of his team in danger. Gibbs would stand where the danger was before he'd let any of them anywhere near it. Tim had liked Vance. Liked in a guilty way that he'd been recognized for his skills and given the lead in Cyber Crimes. Liked how Vance valued his gifts with a computer and actually knew what he was talking about when he explained how he'd arrived at a conclusion and not being told to speak English. It had made him, arrogant. He could admit that now with little shame. He was older now and while praise was still a good thing, it lacked the headiness it once did from the Director to finally pull his head out of his ass and see what had been going on around him. He hadn't liked what he'd seen. It was politics now. Everything. From ammo to terrorists. Somehow, it had stopped being about what was right to being about what LOOKED right. The glow that had surrounded Leon Vance had dulled then. And when Vance saw the gleam vanish from the younger man's eyes, he'd conceded him a loss and had moved on to a new golden boy. And even after Gibbs had retired, they still belonged to Gibbs and Vance had known it._

"_So now the chair sits empty again," Tony's soft tenor cut into his thoughts and he looked into his friend's eyes. "but who will take it? Now that is the question. And if the class will recall Gibb's guide to a successful investigation," He wagged his finger in front of McGee, "Don't just ask questions,"_

"_Ask the right ones,"_

_Tony snapped his fingers, "Very good class! Now, you asked me what I would do, right?"_

"_Yeah," he answered eagerly._

"_I would run. I would run as fast as my legs could carry me. I could never sit behind that desk, Probie. I'd slit my wrists with a stapler first,"_

"_So I shouldn't take it?" _

"_Hey, you're not paying attention. I said that's what I'd do. The question you need to ask is, the right question, is what would YOU do?" Tim just stood there as Tony smiled, and after a moments pause, realized the conversation was essentially over. He reached forward and hit the emergency stop button. The elevator jerked slightly and then began moving upwards._

_When the doors opened, Tony took a few steps and then leaned back in, blocking Tim's way even as others began filing on. "It's like this, no one cares who's sitting in that chair. Just that the person sitting in that chair cares about them,"_

_And with that, the doors closed and Tim found himself riding the elevator for another hour before finally making up his mind. When he stepped out of the silver box and strode purposely towards MTAC, he had only one thought in mind. There would never again be another Shepard or Vance occupying the Director's office. Not on his watch. _

And there hadn't been.

Because neither Vance nor Shepard would have taken Agent Arnold's crap. Vance would have put him in his place with a few well chosen words and he would have loved to of seen the verbal beating Director Shepard would have bludgeoned him with. Anyone who could go toe to toe with Gibbs, regardless of personal history…

Arnold actually reminds him a bit of Gibbs, a comparison Tony had hotly rejected for ten days straight. Repeatedly. Every. Chance. He. Got.

Conversations went similar to, "Hey Tony, what are you doing?" "Oh nothing really, just contemplating how Arnold is a bigger bastard than Gibbs ever was, what are you up to?" By the tenth day of the same conversation, he'd conceded that Tony was a bigger bastard than any of them.

He sighs and finally turns down familiar streets, knowing he needs to be home. The truth, unfortunately, is that Tony is right. While Gibbs could be a jerk and a control freak, it was all tempered by the fact that he cared. Cared for his team. Cared for the people they were supposed to protect and the victims they were supposed to garner justice for. But Arnold…McGee has no idea what the man cares about. And that's the problem.

**(**


	2. Chapter 2

"Director, where are my contacts?"

McGee feels his hands reflexively tighten on the banister at the bark thrown in his direction. He pushes himself upright, standing to his full height and still feels small in the presence of Special Agent Robert Arnold. Arnold is tall, with broad thick shoulders and a square face. Tony has likened him to a giant block with block legs and block arms, a veritable Lego on steroids. He is holding a manila folder in his right hand and impatiently tapping the palm of his other hand with it. Pieces of paper and official looking forms are poking out of it and Tim tries not to stare, but it always bothers him, the way Arnold seems so careless with his papers. It's all he can do not to snatch the folder back and tuck everything back in until it's neat and tidy. Instead, he meets the grey eyes staring expectantly back at him.

"Your contacts?"

Arnold sighs the sigh of the put-upon. "The people you were supposed to contact yesterday," He has a voice that sounds like he's chewing up gravel and spitting out chunks and underneath every syllable is condemnation.

"Oh!" Tim draws out the word as though realization is slowly dawning, "Oh, the ones in South America,"

"Yes, those ones," Arnold bites out.

"You mean, _my_ contacts?"

Arnold's face is turning a wee blotchy and Tim does everything to smother the smirk that is begging to make an appearance.

"Yes_, Director_, your contacts," Even as he is being condescending, he still manages to make McGee's title a sneer. Comparisons to Gibbs enters his mind but he quickly stifles that.

"My contacts are on stand-by in MTAC,"

Arnold doesn't look as though he's expected McGee to come prepared to class. He purses his lips a bit and Tim knows he looks smug. But what the hell? Can't he gloat just a little?

"So, you've had these contacts on stand-by while I've been waiting for three hours to speak with them about a probable terrorist threat?" He steps closer and Tim can't stop himself from taking a step back. It's only one, but it's enough. Arnold is in his face now, speaking low but it sounds like boulders crashing down a mountain. "Time we could have been using to stop people from being killed. For what? So you could hold it over me?" He looks Tim up and down, as though looking at something rather disgusting, but necessary. He huffs and rolled his eyes, muttering, "Unbelievable," before stalking around McGee and into MTAC.

Red faced, McGee turns around and comes face to face with the last person he wants to see.

"You get points for the beginning, but you lost those and about a thousand others for the ending,"

"Go away, Tony," McGee mutters as he quickly strides past the figure leaning with arms crossed, slumped sideways against the wall. Tony pushes off and jogs backward until he blocks the other's path.

"Oh, I don't think so, Probie,"

McGee looks around and seeing they're alone, allows his shoulders to slump in defeat.

"Look, I really don't need this right now, okay. Please?"

Tony cocks his head to the side. "Why?"

"Why? Are you kidding me? I've got enough crap to deal with right now and being humiliated by Arnold and having you witness the entire thing is about all I can take,"

"No, McClueless," Tony pokes his finger at him. "Why did you let him get away with it?"

Tim really, really doesn't want to have this conversation. "Get away with what?" He asks wearily.

"Why did you let him get away with insubordination? You let him intimidate you. Again."

"I know what I did, DiNozzo. You don't have to throw it back in my face,"

"Throwing it in your face is the only way you're going to see anything other than your shoes. You look at the damn carpet more than you look that guy in the eyes,"

"Whatever," Tim mutters and starts to go around again. This time, he makes it to the empty outer office door before Tony's matter of fact tone stops him.

"We both know you've been following Arnold's case for the past three weeks. You've spent hours talking with contacts and going over threat assessments, staying late into the wee hours, going home to catch a few hours sleep and then back here before even Gibbs gets up,"

Tim doesn't turn around. He's suddenly very, very tired. Tony's right. He's spent hours and hours following up Arnold's case. He won't be responsible for a 9/11 if he can help it.

"So?" It comes out sounding as weary as he feels.

"So, why didn't you tell Arnold that you came in at four am and already talked with your guys in South America. That the threat has already been neutralized?"

He can't turn around because he doesn't have an answer. He doesn't know. All he knows is how relieved he felt when Javier told him the three men that had been plotting to destroy a naval ship had been detained and that he'd been correct in his assessment that they were working alone. He doesn't know why he hadn't told Arnold right away, except…

Tony voices what Tim doesn't want to admit; doesn't want to think about another agent.

"If Agent Incredible was so concerned about this case, why wasn't he up here when he got in three hours ago, asking if your contact was ready? What was he doing all that time?" He can feel Tony standing directly behind him now. "Maybe he was trying to solve the case himself. Maybe he wanted to put himself before all those lives. Maybe he wanted to be the hero,"

Tim turns around, eyes wide, not in disbelief, but because the same ugly thing has been crossing his mind too.

Tony smiles. It isn't his pretty boy smile. It's the one that scares him.

"He doesn't play well with others, Probie. And it's going to get someone killed,"

"He won't go that far," But the denial comes out strangled and Tony looks on him kindly, with pity shining from his eyes.

"He won't mean to,"

Tim walks into his office and just stares, seeing nothing and everything. He hears Tony at the door, waiting. McGee takes a deep breath.

"You're right. He won't mean to," he looks to the window, to the clear blue sky and puffy clouds beyond, "but he will, just the same,"

DiNozzo doesn't answer. Tim doesn't need him to. He knows Tony has always had his back. But standing in the large office with the weight of his responsibilities rushing up to meet him and the sun shining in on him, he's never felt more cold…or alone.

**(**


	3. Chapter 3

Hours later, Director Timothy McGee is sitting on the edge of his bed, tie hanging loosely around his neck, hands hanging limply between his knees. Bethany is puttering around in the background, her voice a dim murmur. Usually he loves to listen to her. She has a sweet voice and he would just let it wash over him, soothing away the scrapes and bruises of the day. He loves the normalcy of what she talks about. Neighborhood gossip and mundane household concerns are a far cry from terrorists, kidnapped dependents and corrupt service personnel. Tonight, he doesn't hear a thing.

It isn't until her arms come around his shoulders and her weight presses against his back that he even realizes she'd stopped speaking.

"What are you thinking about?"

Her long dark hair, spills over his shoulder and the warmth of her breath caresses his cheek.

"That I'm an idiot,"

"So you were thinking about the time you forgot my birthday?"

He snorts and reaches up to run his fingers along the top of her scalp. She hums a little, loving the feel of his fingers carding through her hair.

"You're never going to let me live that down, are you?"

"Nope," she answers unrepentant. His lips tug a little at the corners but it doesn't last. She squeezes her arms around him. "Hey, what's wrong? Why are you an idiot?"

He sighs and looks at the dresser to the pictures there. There's the one of their wedding day that stands prominent amongst all the others. Just a shot of him and her, mouths open in laughter. Others of various family members from both sides. Sarah's graduation, an anniversary party. There's one frame that stands partially empty, a picture ripped in half perched within. What's left is himself in his NCIS jacket and cap, looking at the camera and laughing as though caught off guard at a crime scene. Abby used to make scrap books of all the random pics they would take of one another. He has one she'd given him years ago. It's in the same drawer as his wedding album. He should probably take it down or put something in it, but…

There's another one beside it, Ducky's retirement party. They'd all clambered in the round booth at their favorite bar, Ducky in the middle with Abby on one side, her head on his shoulder while Gibbs sat on the other side, his arm slung across the elderly ME's shoulders. There's Palmer by Abby and Ziva. Tony was sat by Gibbs and he was beside Tony. They had been laughing at something, looking at the camera when the picture was taken, their faces open and beaming; a moment of pure joy and contentment, of friends celebrating one of their own. They'd given Ducky a proper send off. He knew it was proper because he'd thought his head was going to explode for two days. They'd had another party a week later when Palmer had accepted the job of Chief Medical Examiner. That any of them ever recovered from that one is a miracle. His smile dims. Ducky passed away six years ago.

"I miss them," he murmurs. He can feel Bethany shift her head to follow his gaze.

"Tim?" She sounds worried, but he hardly hears her.

"Sometimes I wish I could just walk into the squad room and not walk up those stairs. I wish I could walk up to my old desk, throw my coat over my chair and wait for the others to come in. Ziva and I would exchange pleasantries," He pauses and Bethany squeezes his shoulders, her warm lips pressed to his neck. He breathes out a puff of air that could be a laugh if it wasn't so choked. "Tony would walk, no…swagger, in. That stupid grin plastered on his face and begin the daily taunting. Then Gibbs would come out of nowhere, put DiNozzo in his place. Then with a, "Got a dead Marine," we'd be out of there. Abby would do her magic, Ducky would tell a long winded story and Palmer would argue that it wasn't his fault they got lost,"

"That was your life there for so long. You have every right to miss it,"

He's looking at their smiling faces looking back at him. "Yeah," He takes a deep breath and feels something shift deep inside himself. "Yeah, I miss it. Miss them. But it was never going to stay that way," He stares at Tony's keen gaze and finally gets what the other man has been trying to get through his thick skull for the past four months. "It's not supposed to stay the same. Nothing is," He turns his head and gives her a chaste kiss on the cheek. "But I've been trying to hold onto it, trying to do the Director's job from a field agents' point of view. Worse than a field agent. Doing the job a probie, and not even a good one,"

Tim squares his shoulders. Bethany's warm weight falls away from his back and she comes to settle against his side. He puts his arm around her shoulders and pulls her close, her head resting on his shoulder.

"So what are you going to do?"

He holds his wife and looks into the eyes of his brothers and sisters and smiles, grateful for the wonderful, strange, eclectic, honorable and loyal people he's been blessed to of known. He isn't a field agent anymore. He's finally getting it. He's the Director of NCIS. He squeezes Bethany's shoulders and leans his cheek against her head.

"I'm going to make them proud,"

He steps off the elevator with an eagerness he hasn't felt in years. He doesn't look to the squad room on his way past, instead his gaze is focused on the stairs and the few people he passes. He doesn't even groan when he catches sight of DiNozzo leaning casually against the railing at the top of the stairs.

"Gooooood morning, Probie!"

He ignores Tony's wide grin and strides past him, nodding to an agent as he passes. DiNozzo has continued to insist that McGee needs him for whatever reason even though he should have left a few years ago. Tim supposes it's just one more thing he needs to accept. God help him.

Tony sprints to his side and eyes him up and down as they make their way to his office.

"Well, you seem like you're in a good mood this morning,"

"Is there a reason I shouldn't be?"

"Well, just seems out of character for you, McGrumpy,"

"I am not grumpy," He mutters as they pass Janice who is the ultimate professional and doesn't comment.

"No, not today. Hmmm, you seem different somehow,"

Tim sets his briefcase on his desk and goes about removing his coat and booting up his computer. He resolutely ignores the man standing in front of his desk, one hand stroking his chin in thought while studying Tim like a bug…or the way he used to inspect food brought in by Kate. He smiles thinking of her and for the first time the usual pang doesn't accompany her memory.

"Haircut?"

"No,"

"New suit?"

"Nope,"

"Get laid?"

Tim gives him a disgusted look.

"Right. You're not losing weight again are you?" Tony asks suspiciously.

"No, geesh, can't a guy just be in a good mood?"

"Guys? Sure. You? Not since you took the Directors' seat,"

"Which you encouraged me to do," Tim points out as he settles behind the desk.

"Well I wouldn't have if I'd known it would turn you into Oscar the Grouch,"

"Maybe it's just you," McGee snarks. There's no answer and he looks up to see Tony watching him. He's seen the same look in interrogation. That quiet look that DiNozzo has when he's onto something.

"Don't do that,"

"Do what?"

"Look at me like I'm a suspect,"

"Well, something sure is suspect here,"

"Director?"

McGee's head snaps to the door and Janice who is leaning in. He can still feel Tony's keen gaze, but ignores him with firm resolution. Very firm.

"Yes, Janice?"

"I have SecNav on the phone for you,"

"Thank you, Janice,"

She nods and leaves the office. Tim reaches for the phone and pauses at the snap of fingers and the triumphant, "Ah-ha!" that follows.

"That's it!"

He sighs. "What?"

"I should have known from the way your suit is bulging at the back. You've grown a spine!"

"Tony…" he grabs up the phone and lets his fingers hover over the blinking call button.

"You're practically hulking out. You might even be taller than me," DiNozzo bends down as though looking under the desk, "are you wearing purple pants?"

"Can I take this now?"

"What? Oh yeah, by all means," Tony punches the air, "Give'em hell with your renewed self-confidence young Turk,"

Tim drops his head to his desk, even as he's saying hello to the Secretary of the Navy. When he looks up, Tony has left. Tim can't help the smile that spreads across his lips.

Young Turk…geeze.

****(****


	4. Chapter 4

Tim has no idea the sheer number of Lou Ferrigno references that are possible. Then again, inane movie and television references are one of DiNozzo's best talents. The days go by and he sees agents respond differently to him. He becomes the diplomat he'd been when he was a part of Gibb's team, and the compromiser he'd been when he'd had his own team but saying no when he needs to. There is respect in the way Agents defer to him and accept his decisions. He finally feels like he might be able to do this. He doesn't see Tony quite as much, but when he does, amongst the banter and jibes, there is approval in the other man's green eyes. Tim won't admit the warmth it fills him with. He has lunch with Abby that week and she notices right away.

"You look happy, Timmy. I mean, really, really happy," She hasn't seen him since the congratulation party they'd held for him when he took over four months ago. She's been in town for the conference that half the agency is attending. Her portion finished this morning. She's taught forensics in Virginia for a couple years now. He'd been sad to see her go, there had been so many changes already. "It's just not the same," was her reason for leaving. He hadn't understood then. It had taken him this long to finally get it. She couldn't keep going on like nothing had changed. Like Gibbs and Ducky hadn't retired, like Ziva hadn't transferred to Rota and everything else that had happened. She'd moved on, quite literally. It was the only way she'd known to deal with it. But he can't leave. He can't abandon his post. And he can't live in the past. Not anymore.

He kisses her cheek and sees her back to her car and wishes her a safe drive home. There is no sickness in his gut at watching her go. He's letting the past go, little by little.

Funny, he hadn't even realized how hard he'd been holding on.

**(**

He's back at the office when the call comes in. It's a frantic call from a rookie agent from the same conference Abby had been attending. He's hiding in a supply closet at the Hyat hotel. A man is holding up conference room A. He thinks there are twenty law enforcement personnel in the room and the gunman fired once and the agent thinks he might be bleeding.

Tim doesn't wait for his driver and takes a company car. He passes six other responding cars and pulls up before the perimeter is even secured at the hotel. Gibbs was his mentor, after all.

"What have we got?" the uniformed officer pauses, trying to gauge who McGee is.

"Director, we've got it under control," a gravelly voice calls from nearby.

"Uh-oh. Look out McSpeedy, it's Ahhhnold," Tony's come up behind him, doing his best Schwarzenegger impression. Tim lets it wash over him as he squares his shoulders and turns slightly to watch as Special Agent Arnold strides quickly over to him, Agent Sullivan trailing nervously behind him. Sullivan is young and Tim remembers what it was like keeping up with Gibbs at that age. Daunting. "Remember your inner Lou," Tony whispers behind him and he's rolling his head on his shoulders before he registers what he's doing. Geeze, all he needs to do now is put his fists in the air and dance back and forth. Instead, he takes a deep breath.

"SitRep, Agent Arnold," he ignores Tony behind him who is shivering dramatically and whispering about goose-bumps.

"Twenty-two hostages, all NCIS personnel and all unarmed. We have a list of names. We've secured the area and evacuated the hotel. I have NCIS agents and local LEO's at all stairwells and exits,"

"Do we know who exactly is holding up the conference?"

Arnold purses his lips. Tony's voice is in his ear then, "That's his tell,"

"Huh," Tim watches and realizes that it is indeed a give-a-way. Arnold isn't irritated with Tim, well, right now. He's irritated with himself because he doesn't know.

"Not at this time," Arnold answers grudgingly, "We're working with the Agent who called it in. He was grazed. Got him in the back of an ambulance with a sketch artist. We'll run facial recognition and narrow it down. Whoever he is, he's cut the phone line to the room. The hostage negotiator just arrived and is making his way to outside the room now,"

"And in the meantime, we have twenty-two people at this maniacs' mercy. That'll take too long. Have they disabled the surveillance cameras?"

Arnold looks visibly rankled, his shoulders twitch back and his eyes narrow. "Yes. That was the first thing we checked. This isn't my first day on the job,"

Tony is spoiling behind him now, making comments as though the situation has become a spectator sport. "Come on Probie, I know he wouldn't like you when you're angry,"

"You're right," he's answering both men now, but instead of anger, Tim feels calm and allows a smile that makes DiNozzo proud, "It's not my first day either,"

And with that, he turns to Agent Sullivan.

"Yes, Sir!" Sullivan is new and shiny and eager and Tim marvels that he was ever like this and flushes embarrassed knowing that he was. Sullivan steps forward with enthusiasm. Unfortunately. he wilts under Arnold's glare and Tim is trying desperately not to draw comparisons with Gibbs. He glances back to see his backup crossing his arms over his chest, sucking in the sides of his cheeks so his lips purse out, and eyes narrow in knowing disapproval. Tim shrugs sheepishly and turns back to continue the pissing match.

"Agent Sullivan,"

The agent in question turns warily back to him, his eyes straying to Arnold's challenging gaze.

"Agent Sullivan," and Tim's voice is calm and low and those standing in their little circle can't help but lean forward to hear him. Tim stares hard at Sullivan, keeping his gaze, daring him to look away and willing him to believe that the only person with authority here is Timothy McGee. "Agent Arnold has told me that you're quite the tech whiz,"

Tim isn't sure who looks more surprised, Sullivan or Arnold. Sullivan looks to Arnold who looks uncomfortable. Even he isn't cruel enough to squash the hopeful glint in the kids' eyes, so he nods and grunts what is assumed to be approval. Sullivan beams and Arnold's eyes widen. He shifts his feet as Sullivan turns back to Tim, his back ramrod straight and proud.

"Yes, Sir, I mean, uh, I know my way around electronics, Sir,"

"Director will do, Agent Sullivan," Sullivan dips his head and smiles sheepishly. Tim puts his hand on the young mans' shoulder. Sullivan watches him with something akin to awe. "You ever gone old school, Sullivan?"

Sullivan hadn't, but the gleam in his eyes told Tim everything he needed to know.

"He looks like a fifteen year old seeing his first Playboy,"

Tim snorts. Tony has no idea.

**(**


	5. Chapter 5

While the hostage negotiator tries in vain to speak with the man in Conference room A, Tim and Sullivan, or Greg as he asks Tim to call him, have shed their jackets and ties and are sitting cross-legged in a guest room above the conference room, huddled in the far corner. Tim is patiently showing Greg a fiber optic camera that another agent had raced to the hotel to bring them.

"Had to look through all the old storage junk to find it," the young woman had huffed. Tim makes a mental note to keep the camera and cable in his office for good measure after this. They've become so dependent on the really high tech stuff, that the simpler methods have all but faded away. He has a very new appreciation for Gibbs' frustration with technology.

"Okay, so the camera is set up to the monitor, now we have to drill the hole,"

Greg picks up the drill and looks back to the door, as though the hotel manager is going to come barreling through at any moment.

"Are we allowed to do this?"

Tim grins, "A wise man once told me, 'Never ask permission. Seek forgiveness later,"

"Sounds like a great man,"

"He is," Tim eyes Greg, "he'd scare the hell out of you,"

"He can't be worse than Agent Arnold," but he's grinning as he says it and Tim bites back his response and wisely keeps his own counsel. Tim takes the drill and squeezes the trigger. The drill whirls to life and Tim carefully sets it to work, carpet and wood spitting out of the forming hole. "I guess NCIS can always compensate the hotel," Greg murmurs as he watches on.

"Of course," Tim looks up to Greg, an ornery glint in his eye, "Besides, tell me this isn't fun,"

Greg laughs and Tim thinks this really is the most fun he's had in four months.

**(**

They're both bent over the drill so far that their heads are almost touching and when the drill surges forward, Tim immediately lets off the trigger and they both suck in a breath and hold it, knowing they've broken through the ceiling. They hold themselves taut over the small hole, straining to hear if their work has been noticed. There's a muffled voice. It sounds calm but indistinct, as though they're listening to it through gallons and gallons of water. Then- silence. Tim looks to Greg without moving his head, the muscles in his neck are so tight he doesn't think he could move if the room was on fire. Greg does the same. They stare at each other and wonder if they've just killed everyone they're trying to save.

And then yelling, further away from their position.

"I told you, I don't want to talk to you! The only man I want is in this room. You get the fuck away from the door or I'm gonna blow this party right now!"

There's more calm murmuring from whom they guess is the negotiator, standing on the other side of the conference room door. They don't pay attention to that. Their heads snap up, vertebrae grinding, eyes wide. Tim's the first to speak.

"Did he say blow?"

**(**


	6. Chapter 6

After three point five seconds of staring stupidly at one another, Greg scrambles to grab the wire and monitor, hands it to McGee who runs the wire down, careful to watch the monitor to keep from going down too far. Greg watches intently, and in a corner of Tim's mind he's pleased to see the hero worship fade away to be replaced by a competent agent. Other technologies have replaced fiber optics, but those advancements still can't give them a picture of the man's face. Yeah, he's definitely keeping this thing in his filing cabinet when they're done here.

"There! There he is," Sullivan whispers back, excitement filling his voice as he leans forward, hunching over the monitor. The man is walking back and forth, waving a gun about with his right hand while his left is kept down at his side. He looks to be in his early twenties, Caucasian, thin with an angular face and thick black hair. He's wearing a baggy coat and jeans. They strain to see if he's holding a trigger in the hidden hand, but he's stopped moving and is yelling at a man on the floor. He's a NCIS agent they both recognize, a new transfer from San Diego. Dan Felder, twenty years with the agency. It looks as though he's tried to separate himself from the other hostages. He's about four feet from the others, who are sat rigidly against the wall, as though waiting for any excuse to rush the man. Tim understands what it was to be within feet of a threat and powerless to do anything.

God does he know.

"Alright now, hook the monitor up to your data link and send the image to the lab and have Jeffries run him through for a match,"

"This really is old school," Greg smiles. Tim smiles back.

"Just call me McGuyver,"

"Who?"

Tim grimaces and feels old and misses his team who thought the nickname was pretty cool. "Never mind," he mutters.

"Okay, sent. I guess we wait now,"

"Yeah," but Tim is distracted because Dan is talking now, though they can't make out his words and the man has turned and is that…

"Is that a trigger?"

Tim sits back and rubs a hand down his face.

"Yeah, kid. That's a trigger,"

"So, if it's real, then where's the bomb?"

"Send that image to the lab. Maybe Jeffries can give us more info on what we're dealing with,"

"Yes, boss,"

Tim's head snaps up, but Greg is already intent on his work. It isn't the most appropriate time, but Tim smiles anyway.

Of course, he's only able to bask in the glow for five seconds before a new voice roars through the room below, causing all to turn their heads to the door. The assailant stalks forward only a few paces, screaming for the newcomer to go away. They can't make out the words, but the new voice itself is damn familiar.

"Is that-" Greg cuts off as the image below shows the conference room door flying open and a Lego on steroids, hands out to the side to show they're empty, comes striding through the door.

"Sonuvabitch!"

Tim jumps up and races from the room, Sullivan on his heels. Tim is muttering curses down the length of the hallway, utilizing his writers' imagination in colorful ways and Greg wisely just tries to keep up. They race into the stairwell and barely touch the steps as they fly down and through the door where Tony meets him. Tim doesn't stop and Tony easily keeps pace.

"I take it you know what the Terminator is up to?"

"What the hell is he thinking?"

"Well, that's the problem,"

"Right, he's not thinking,"

"So what's the plan?"

It makes Tim stop. Sullivan narrowly avoids colliding with his Director, his arms wind- milling as he comes to a sudden halt.

"We need a plan," Tim is rubbing his chin, mind racing furiously. He needs to pull Arnold before the gunman decides to take them all out.

"Maybe the gunman will just get mad and shoot Arnold?" Tony's observation is said a touch too hopeful and Tim glares.

"What?"

"Sir, I mean Director, Jeffries has it. Man he's good,"

"Abby was better," Tony mutters petulantly. Tim ignores him and turns to Sullivan.

"Go on,"

"His name is Martin Stone. Twenty-two years old, not married, lives in San Diego,"

"Wait, San Diego? That's where Agent Felder is from,"

"Yeah, oh," Sullivan continues to read the info on his data link, face pale and drawn.

"Oh? Oh what?"

"Oh! Um, says here he's the only son of Lt. Rachel Stone. The Lieutenant was murdered last April while home on leave. They suspected Petty Officer Ryan Calvert of her death, but there was never any proof. Calvert retired from the Navy two months later, whereabouts unknown. The case is still cold,"

"Let me guess, the investigating agent was Felder,"

Sullivan nods grimly.

"Perfect," Tim turns around to look up the hallway, to the huddle of Kevlar armored men standing on either side of the door. "And Arnold has none of this information. Great,"

"What should we do, Director?"

Tim gazes for eternity down the hallway, a strange calm overcoming him. He knows what he needs to do. Bethany is going to kill him.

"Keep in touch with Jeffries. Coordinate with the LEO's . Find out if the bomb is real and where it is," he looks to Sullivan who is looking a little green and a lot overwhelmed. He places his hand on the younger man's shoulder, "You can do this, Sullivan. I'm counting on you, okay?"

Sullivan rolls his shoulders back and stands straight. It makes Tim proud.

"Yes, Sir. I won't let you down,"

"Good man," Tim squeezes his shoulder and walks away.

"Uh, what are you going to do, Sir?" But Tim doesn't answer.

"Yeah, what he said," Tony walks shoulder to shoulder with him, "Soooo, what are you going to do, oh Fearless Leader?"

"What I should have done since day one," they're nearly to the doors.

"And what would that be?"

Tim sheds his jacket and hands it to a nearby SWAT member who takes it questioningly. The negotiator has his hands on his hips and watches Tim with fury. Tim nods and the negotiator nods back. Tim unbuttons his cuffs and rolls up his sleeves and hands his gun to the bewildered SWAT officer. He takes a deep breath and looks Tony in the eye.

"I'm going to kick Arnold's ass,"

**(**


	7. Chapter 7

Before Tony can protest, Tim's pushing through the throng of Kevlar and striding into the room like he owns the whole damn place.

"What the- Who the hell are you?" Martin Stone rages. Arnold whirls around in surprise. His eyes narrow upon seeing Tim and his neck turns blotchy red.

Tim doesn't even look at him. He stares at Martin Stone. In a normal voice he says, "Arnold. Out,"

"Wh-what? You shouldn't be here, Sir. You need to leave. Your safety-"

"Somehow I doubt my safety is first and foremost on your mind, Agent Arnold. Or anyone else here, for that matter," Arnold is sputtering but Tim still doesn't spare him a glance. He's watching Martin who is breathing heavily, his hand with the trigger beating against his thigh, but Stone is meeting his gaze and that's what Tim wants, "Mr. Stone, I apologize for my Agent. He entered without permission,"

"You- You're damn right he entered without permission! You get him out of here now!" He waves the gun about and those close to him can't help but flinch back.

"I intend to. Agent Arnold, you're dismissed. We'll discuss your actions when this is over,"

Arnold grapples to remain in the room, in control, "What if he kills you?"

"Then you're fired," Tim finally looks at him and Arnold stills, "Get out. Now."

Arnold purses his lips. He looks to Martin. He looks to the others on the floor and his shoulders slump under the weight of their glares. He might even look ashamed. He makes it to the doorway before Tim calls out to him, "Close the door," and because Tony has been his secret mentor, Tim adds, "and don't let it hit you in the ass,"

He hears the door close. Martin is watching him warily, shuffling his feet and wiping the perspiration from his eyes.

"How did you know my name?"

"We got a description of you from the Agent you shot," Well, it's sort of true.

"Oh," Martin rubs the back of his head with the butt of the gun, his eyes downcast and darting back and forth. He looks up through his lashes as though not wanting to meet McGee's eyes, "Is um, is he okay?"

He shrugs, "I think he will be, but I don't know," he tilts his head, "You didn't really want to hurt him, did you?"

Martin shakes his head vehemently, "No, Sir. I just wanted him to stay in the room, but he walked in here when I was trying to get everyone to sit and he just wouldn't listen! I just wanted him to listen!" he's nearly in tears, beseeching Tim to understand and Tim thinks he does.

"That's all you wanted in San Diego, isn't it? Just someone to listen to you,"

"Yes!" he jabs the gun in Felder's direction, face contorted in rage and pain, tears streaming unchecked down his face, "He was supposed to listen to me. I told him! I told him it wasn't Calvert. I told him there was another Petty Officer that Mom was afraid of, but he wouldn't listen!"

"And because he was too focused on Petty Officer Calvert, her real killer got away," a part of Tim is amazed at how calm he sounds while his heart is trying to pound its way through his ribcage.

"Yes! Yes! That's what happened! He didn't even care, he just blew me off!"

"I'm listening now, aren't I?"

But Martin is glaring at Felder as though it's just the two of them in the room. Felder looks sick, eyes glassy and face pale.

"Martin? Martin, I need you to look at me," Tim pleads, he steps a little closer, eyes straying to the hand with the trigger, desperate to see if it's real or not. Martin ignores him. He brings his gun arm up and points it straight at Dan Felder's head. Dan doesn't move. No one moves. Except for Tim.

"Martin Stone, I said listen to me right now!" Tim stalks forward******. ****Martin jumps. He stumbles backward and brings the gun to bear on Tim.**

**"****St-stay back!"**

**Tim stops. "I'll stay right here, but you will listen to me," there is steel in his voice and he's moved beyond fear straight into a weird mix of desperate and pissed, "Now, I've listened to you, haven't I?"**

**"…****yeah…"**

**Tim nods, "Now I need you to listen to me. Are you listening?"**

**"****Y-yes. I'm ah, I'm listening,"**

**"****Good. My name is Timothy McGee. I'm the Director of NCIS. That means I'm in charge. Agent Felder is one of mine. That means he's my responsibility. The cases he investigates, are my ultimate responsibility. Finding out who killed your mother, is my responsibility. Do you understand?"**

**"****Director-" Dan pleads quietly from the floor. Officers are holding their hands to their mouths, huddled together, muscles coiling tight.**

**Tim cuts him off. "Martin, do you understand?"**

**"****I, I don't-"**

**"****It means that Agent Felder is not responsible for your mothers' case going cold," he looks Martin square in the eye, "it means I am," **

**"****But I-"**

**"****So I'm here and I'm listening. You don't need anyone else here-"**

**"****But Felder-"**

**"****I said, you don't need anyone else. You have to decide what you're really here for, Martin,"**

**"****I don't understand," **

**"****Are you here to get payback for your mother's murder going unsolved, or do you want to find her killer?"**

**"****What?" Martin's eyes are wide and Tim can see that Arnold isn't the only one who hasn't thought things through.**

**"****Of all the people at NCIS that can help you, it's me. Your mother is my responsibility. And so are you. So are you here to get attention for her case, or kill the only person that can help you?"**

**Tim watches the boy in front of him. He's swallowing hard, his frame shaking and he's not even glancing at Felder. It's just them in the room now. It's what Tim's been angling for the whole time. What he doesn't want to see is Martin's hand spasming on the trigger and Tim feels his heart trip.**

**"****Martin, if you kill me, if you kill anyone, I can't find justice for your mother. No one will. The people in the hall will kill you. The only people that will suffer will be our families. Our mothers. Our fathers. Our children. My wife's name is Bethany. I told her I would come home tonight. Do you think she should suffer?"**

**Martin is crying now, gun hand rubbing the side of his head, eyes to the carpet.**

**"****Do you really want others to hurt like you do? Would you really wish that pain on other people?"**

**Martin is shaking. Tim wets his lips and takes a hesitant step forward. There is no more air in the room. No one around him dares to breathe. Martin isn't looking up. Tim eases his foot forward. Then the other. He's only three feet away. He can smell Martin's sweat; see the oiliness of his hair, the trembling of his lips.**

**"****You have a choice, Martin," Tim utters softly. Martin doesn't react to his closeness. McGee knows he could easily take the gun…but the trigger. If the bomb is real…and they have no idea where it is… "this is where all points converge. What you do determines the rest of your life, and ours. Will you kill us, Martin? Or will you be the man your mother raised you to be?"**

**He knows as soon as he invokes Stone's mother, it's a mistake. Martin's whole body jerks as though electrocuted, eyes slit with fury, his gun arm comes up and McGee feels the end of the barrel shove against his forehead. He closes his eyes against Martin's seething glare. He thinks of Bethany and Abby and Gibbs and Palmer and Sullivan and he sees Tony and he huffs because it would figure right into Tony's ego that Tim's last thoughts are of him.**

**"****Wh-why the hell are you smiling?"**

**Tim opens his eyes to stare into the bewildered ones of Martin Stone. McGee has to lick his lips twice before he can speak.**

**"****I was just thinking of the people I love," Tim says simply. Martin's hand is shaking, the gun pushing painfully against Tim's skull. Tim breathes in. He doesn't breathe out. He stares at Martin. Martin stares back.**

**Martin slowly, slowly steps back. The pressure falls away from Tim's forehead. He still doesn't breathe. Martin's arm slowly goes down to his side.**

**"****You'll find my mom's killer?"**

**Tim breathes, "I give you my word, I'll do my best,"**

**"****You won't forget?"**

**Tim can't help but smile, "Trust me, nothing could make me forget you,"**

**Martin offers up a weak smile, "Guess you want this," he hands the gun to McGee, who takes it gratefully and switches on the safety.**

**"****Martin, the trigger?" McGee prompts.**

**"****Oh, um, yeah, here," he offers it up and McGee starts as Martin begins to let go, "Oh, uh, it's not a pressure switch or anything,"**

**"****But it's real?"**

**Martin looks down, shame coloring his cheeks. He merely nods.**

**"****Where is it, Martin?"**

**Martin shrugs and then very carefully pulls his jacket open. McGee instinctively steps back as a collective gasp fills the room.**

**Martin looks at the mess of wires and clay strapped to his chest and then raises his eyes to Tim. He quirks a shoulder and says nothing. He doesn't have to. Tim can see that Martin had no intention of letting anyone out of this alive, not even himself.**

****(****


	8. Chapter 8

It's Felder who is the first to move. He's surprisingly gentle with Martin as he puts the young man's hands behind his back and leads him to the doors. Others are slowly making their way to their feet, cramped muscles no obstacle to their impending freedom. They don't bolt for the door. They are professionals after all. But then, they don't make for the door at all. They surround McGee. They shake his hand. They hug him gently. They are hushed when they have every right to be jubilant. They are reverent though they should be boisterous. Left to any other person, none of them would be alive. McGee feels his throat tighten as he is surrounded by agents.

_His _agents.

********

He looks up and catches sight of DiNozzo leaning against the open door. He nods. Tony nods back. And then he kind of rolls his shoulders along the jamb, turns into the hallway and disappears. McGee is alarmed and politely pushes his way through the crowd. He makes it to the hall where others cheer his arrival, clap him heartily on the back and he ignores it all and stands on his toes to see Tony's back, the others' long stride taking him further away. He's saved by Sullivan who promises to run interference for him and he takes off down the hall, through the door where he catches sight of Tony's designer heel as he rounds the stairs.

"Tony! Tony, wait!" he races up the stairs and stumbles back as he nearly runs into Tony who is leaning casually against the wall.

****

"Good work today, Director,"

****

"Thanks, I-" Tim cocks his head and points an accusing finger at DiNozzo, "Wait, you just called me Director,"

****

Tony's eyebrows raise, "Uh, yeah. That's what you are, aren't you?"

"Yes," he answers guarded, "but you always call me, Probie,"

****

Tony stands straight and shoves his hands in his pockets, "Probie," he grins, "you'll always be Probie to me. But that's me and only me. From now on, you are the Director for everyone else,"

Tim feels as though his face will split in half and he knows he looks ridiculous. But then, Tony is grinning madly back so it's all good.

"Think I'll have anymore problems with Arnold?"

****

Tony snorts, "Well, if you don't post him to Antarctica first, I think the other agents will make his life enough of a living hell that he'll be begging for a transfer,"

Tim shrugs. He feels warm and proud and territorial about his people and he looks at Tony whose smile is faded and he's looking at Tim with fondness and yes, even pride. But there's more in his gaze, something solemn and final.

"This is why you've stayed, isn't it? I didn't get it before, why you thought you couldn't go," Tim looks to his shoes. Tony remains quiet. McGee takes a deep breath and looks back to his friend, "Thank you, Tony. I mean it, I-"

****

"Tim, don't," he stares into Tim's eyes and Tim feels something twisted and sharp break. He feels peace for the first time in nearly two years. "You're a good man. A good friend. I couldn't go until I knew you were going to be okay here on your own,"

****

"Okay," he whispers.

****

"It was an honor, Tim," Tony stands tall and lifts his chin, "It's always been an honor,"

****

Tim's head jerks up and down. He ignores the sting in his eyes and the tightness in his throat.

"An honor, Tony. Always,"

****

Timothy McGee turns around and walks on wooden legs down the stairs and through the door. He meets with those he needs to meet with. He gives a statement to the press. He calls a frantic Bethany and tells her over and over that he loves her and he'll be home tonight. He puts Agent Sullivan with Agent Dwayne Wilson's team and then leads a shame faced Agent Arnold into his office. There is no yelling. Nothing is thrown and no bruises appear on either of them. Arnold quietly packs his desk and the next day he is assuming his new post as an archives clerk. Martin Stone is in jail and Dan Felder is interviewing him tomorrow. Felder will be reporting to McGee personally. He's more than happy to do so.

Tim leaves his office that night and is nearly knocked off his feet as Janice throws off all professionalism and tearily squeezes the breath from him. She's embarrassed as she pulls away, but he kisses her cheek and lets her know her joy is appreciated. It takes him twenty minutes to leave the office and he should be floating with all the genuine love and admiration he's being showed. He does, really. But once in the parking lot, once alone, he feels solemn. He remembers all those who didn't get to go home at the end of their shifts. He doesn't go home.

It's thirty minutes later and he's accepting the shot from the bartender. He lets the soft jazz fall over him, the dim lighting wraps itself around him, sheltering, protecting. There are no accolades here. No thumps on the back. There is only him…and the wall.

He stares at the photos. So many added over the years. He acknowledges quietly that there could have been many, many more added tonight. He gives thanks for the photos that aren't there.

And finally, finally after one year, eleven months and two days, he forgives himself for the one that is. The one that he could not have saved, but the one that had sacrificed his own life so that McGee's own photo would not be here. Instead of pain, for the first time, he feels pride.

The half torn picture of Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo stares laughingly back at him. Tim smiles, remembering the joke they were sharing when the picture was taken. He allows the memories to wash away into the night, memories of blood gushing between his fingers; of green eyes searching his and his own pleas for Tony to stay. And he had. Leave it to DiNozzo to interpret the word 'stay' in his own way.

But that was DiNozzo. Ever loyal.

Tim stands straight, arms at his sides, heels together. He raises his glass.

"Stand down, Tony," he throws back the shot smiles softly, "I have the watch now,"

****

End.


End file.
